


Meet Me At Your Place And Put Me In Mine

by hockies



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Consensual Kink, M/M, Paddling, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hockies/pseuds/hockies
Summary: Sometimes Auston is cocky, is the thing. And sometimes Freddie decides to teach him not to be.





	Meet Me At Your Place And Put Me In Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This was written quickly and self-indulgently for the Day 4 prompt of [#kinktober.](https://kinktober2018.tumblr.com/post/171107184776/kinktober-2018/amp)
> 
> It's just that Freddie's hands are so big and broad and also that probably somebody should get Auston Matthews over a piece of furniture and put him in his place. *shrug emoji*

The marble of Freddie's countertop feels cool under Auston's hands. It's a nice counterpoint to the heat that is his entire body. His face has been burning since Freddie had put him here with a firm, quiet, "bend over the counter".

Sometimes Auston is cocky, is the thing. And sometimes Freddie decides to teach him not to be. It's not something everyone would understand, so they keep it to themselves. It really comes down to the fact that Auston needs to learn that he's not in control all the time, really needs to feel that, and Freddie, well. Freddie is slow and steady and watches everything Auston does with quiet, considering eyes, and they settle up later.

They settle up with Auston sprawled across Freddie's sturdy counter in the low light of his kitchen.

He's naked and on display, so he's thankful Freddie's apartment is up so high, windows overlooking the harbor. Freddie had nudged his legs apart, wider and wider still. His cock hangs untouched, heavy and hard.

Not much gets to him, really, but this does; Freddie fully clothed while Auston's spread out and on display for him. He remembers thinking how good Freddie had looked when he'd opened the door for him earlier, soft, really. Grey sweats and a worn black hoodie, hair all soft like he'd showered and then not put any product in it. Auston had wanted to push his hands through it, but. That's not why he'd come tonight.

"What did you do, to deserve this tonight, Aus?" Freddie asks.

"I don't know, but I'm sure you'll tell me," Auston can't help getting the snipe in, testing what he can get away with. He's been here before, though. He can't get away with anything, and he knows it.

It's already pretty fucking clear who is in charge here and who will be getting his way tonight, and it won't be Auston. He's counting on it. Warmth pools in the pit of his stomach and lower.

Freddie doesn't answer right away, waits a bit, patient like he always is, just long enough that Auston starts getting nervous.

"You maybe want to try that again?" Freddie asks him, and shit, yeah, his voice has a firmer edge now.

"I put Carey fucking Price in his place," Auston says, remembering how he'd felt when Price had stopped him. How he'd mocked Auston with his stupid, dumb face. How awesome it had felt, slamming one in, turning to the crowd...

"Would you like to be punished for language tonight, as well? Or are we sticking with the arrogance?"

"Sorry, sir," Auston says, through a grin. He knows Freddie can hear it in his voice.

"Sure you are," Freddie muses. "You aren't yet. But we'll get you there."

Auston hears it for the promise it is. He shivers.

"See this paddle?"

Auston squeezes his eyes shut. He knows which paddle Freddie is holding out in front of him. He's felt every inch of it's long, firm length before. He's seen the paddle. But Freddie is waiting for him to look, so he opens his eyes and takes it in.

Freddie's strong hand grips it loosely. Auston remembers what it feels like, remembers how Freddie uses it, shivers. His face burns.

"Yes, sir."

Freddie hums, runs his free hand through Auston's hair, half petting, half letting his fingers catch on it.

"How many of these do you need?" Freddie asks, meeting Auston's eyes with his.

"Uhhh..."

"How many?" Freddie asks again, firmer, fingers tightening in Auston's hair.

Auston gasps, "50", grabs at a number, hope it's close to the one Freddie probably has in his mind.

"50?" Freddie repeats, loosening his grip a bit, sliding his hand down to the small of Auston's back. The contact is soft, caring. He stops just above Auston's ass.

"Yes, sir," he manages, arching into the touch. He'll take soft where he can; it won't last long.

"You're going to count them."

"Fuck, Fred, no, please, I..."

"Maybe you need more than 50?" His voice is sharp. It stops Auston's stammering, words dying in his throat. Freddie means it. He always means it.

"No, no, I'm sorry, sir. Yes, sir," Auston lets head hang down, but Freddie moves around the counter, stands in front of him and bends down, so that Auston knows he means for him to meet his eyes.

"Yes, what, Auston?"

"I'm going to count them, sir."

"That's more like it," Freddie says. He presses up, and disappears behind Auston again.

The anticipation is rough, maybe even worse than what's to come. Long, silent beats of time where he can't see Freddie, doesn't know what he's doing, or when it's going to...

He feels a gentle hand slide down the skin of his ass, pink and tender from Freddie's hand warming him up earlier, and he knows. He braces himself.

The first smack of the paddle isn't even close to hard, but the noise of it rings out, sharp and embarrassing. He can't help the way his cock jumps. 

"One, sir," Auston says, dutifully.

The second is harder, the third harder still, and Auston counts them out, clearing his throat. Four, five, six. The sounds echo in the room, the paddle and then his voice.

Seven hurts, and Auston grunts before he can manage his count. He gets eight, nine and ten harder for his trouble.

He's bracing himself up on his hands, but he's starting to shake. He can't focus on any of it because his ass his on fire, but Freddie must be able to, because he pauses and presses Auston down to his elbows.

"Shhh, there you go," Freddie says, and then he's got the paddle again, and Auston's back to counting.

His breathing comes raggedly, struggling to remember to take air into his lungs between bracing himself for the strokes that come faster now and remembering to keep count. 

He cries out at 14, barely getting himself under control to call out the count, and by stroke 18 he's crying out with each smack, pressing his forehead onto the table.

"Keep your legs spread," Freddie warns, stern, nudging them apart with the paddle. Auston's face burns and he's so, so hard, pressing his cock into the side of the counter until Freddie pulls his hips away from the friction, positions him with his ass out.

Auston feels each bob of his cock with 19, 20, and 21, but the throb of his untouched erection is nothing compared to the sharp smacks on his red hot bottom.

Freddie stops after, "25, sir," because Auston's voice is shaking and his legs are, too. He smooths a hand up the sensitive skin of Auston's ass, feeling the heat there. It hurts, really hurts, and yet Auston pushes back into it, chasing it, because it's Freddie.

"How may did you say you needed?" Freddie asks him, voice level but kind, still rubbing his hand up across Auston's shoulders and kneading the muscle there until Auston loosens a bit. 

"50, sir," Auston only just manages to steady his voice to answer. He wishes Freddie would touch him more. He knows he will, after. It's not time for that yet.

"You need fifty? You're halfway through. You're doing so well." Freddie sounds curious and casual, but Auston knows it for the check that it is.

"Thank you, sir."

"You good to keep going?"

"Yes, please," he says, because he knows that Freddie knows he's good, but he wants Freddie to be absolutely sure in this. He doesn't want there to be even one second of doubt.

"Good boy."

It's pain and pleasure when Freddie starts up again, 26 and 27, and Auston can't completely float because he needs to keep count. Freddie's strokes with the paddle are sure and strong, the sound ringing out in the room with Auston's voice. Auston blushing deeper and deeper with each smack, his eyes getting wet with tears.

"33, sir."

Smack.

"34, sir."

Smack.

He starts sobbing somewhere around 40, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the edge of the marble countertop. He doesn't twist away, though. Thinks that Freddie will be proud of him for it. Knows that he will.

He drops the "sir" at 45 and just counts, and he doesn't get called on it. He's howling in agony after each smack, Freddie waiting for him to catch his breath and say the number out loud, longer between each one. He knows Auston needs a moment. That he can take this, but he just needs a second. Freddie gives him that. Freddie always gives him everything.

48, 49, and then Freddie stops, and there's the moment of anticipation again.

"Last one." Freddie calls out, the first thing he's said in a while, and Auston's heart speeds up at the sound of his voice.

The last stroke of the paddle is hard and quick and sure, and Auston sobs out one last count before he dissolves into tears.

Freddie's hands are on his back, now, both at once, so he must have dropped the paddle. He's rubbing and soothing, whispering things into the skin and muscle of Auston's back as he drops kisses along his spine. "You did so good, babe," and, "took it so well for me," and "Auston", over and over as Auston shakes and cries, tension seeping out of him.

Freddie helps him up, turns him around and lets him cling. Guides him to the sofa in the next room with a hand on the small of his back, lets him collapse against his side as he pulls a blanket around them. 

Auston's still hard and he notices, but in a vague sort of way. It's not important. If Freddie thought he'd deserved that, he'd have taken care of it. Maybe in the morning.

Freddie puts the TV on while Auston drifts sleepily. He doesn't take his hands off him, fingers skimming up and down Auston's arm, drops a kiss against his temple, pulls him closer.

"I'm sorry, Fred," Auston says eventually, barely able to keep his eyes open. He's warm and happy, a content feeling settling in his chest. It lodges itself there deeper at the sound of Freddie's laugh.

"Liar," Freddie he says, "You are not."

Auston laughs, hides his face in Freddie's shoulder, and doesn't answer.

"It was pretty hot," Freddie tells him, "that goal. Filthy. Couldn't wait to get you here."

"You're a jerk," Auston says, happy his face is hidden because he doesn't think he can keep the fond off of it, "but thanks." 

He might not be able to explain it, if anyone ever asked. He feels strangely comfortable with the fact that Freddie has it all under control, though. He might not know what to call it, but what he does know is that he can't keep the grin off his face as he sinks further into the warmth of Freddie and the couch.

 


End file.
